The Emperor and The Slayer
by TinuvielxXx2018
Summary: He was with no memory, no clue of what had happened to bring him to this point. Left with no choice but to accept and work to figure it out with his most hated enemy. Pre dmc 5


**The story Originally belongs to the Lavender Road Author LilanxJane.**

**I will take it and work through it.**

**Chapter 1 ~ Fallen ~**

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As he was roused from his heavy slumber, he was first made aware of the cool breeze and it's loamy fragrance. The ground is lumpy, as if he were on a bed of earthen rocks.  
Around him purveyed the sweet smell of flowers, a disgusting scent to his kind. Confusion poisoned his mind, made him unable to see the truth at first. Glaring around, a single question rose.

"What happened!?"

His clothes feel damp as a floret in dawn's dew. Clothes? Since when? What is this strange feeling?

He half-wondered if he was still dreaming somehow, a mental trick. He remember the serious pain he felt, then falling into a chasm of darkness. His vision cleared slightly, and he wish it hadn't.

Sometimes, ignorance is a blessing.

"Primate hands?" He spoke.

His new limbs came as a shock as he checked them out carefully. Ten fingers, two sets of palms, and it felt true.  
The stench of his own meat sack was soon to overpower what he'd come to see around himself.

He touched his face and felt cheeks, ears, and a silky head of hair.

"What is this? Who's done this!?" He yelled to no one, hoping deep down he would wake up from this nightmare.

He sat up to take in the shafts of light that burst through the gaps in the leafy canopy above.

"Where am I!?"

Now, he was awake, perhaps more fully awake than ever before. There were dirt paths around him, but not a sign of another person.  
As far as he could tell, he was alone with the birds. They made their carefree song around him, and in that sweet melody he felt more hatred. This bizarre nightmare was his alone.  
He could not remember the face of the demon who started this. In fact, his memory was a bit hazy of _how_ the fight started. How did it begin?

He can't think of the name that belongs.

It was a forest of some kind, at least that's what he imagined.  
The animals that frolicked here were small and insignificant. Perhaps the deer would prove useful.

He saw one wander away, it's horns glowing blue.

Looking down, he was wearing a gray tee, a black blazer and dark jeans. These clothes were putrid, feeling uncomfortable and reeking of chemicals.  
What began as mere brisk winds has built into the worst storm he had seen in awhile. The wind doesn't howl, it screams. The rain doesn't fall it is driven, hard, merciless, torrential.  
The trees do not sway, they creak, bend and moan as their fine limbs are ripped away, and their autumnal leaves become not confetti, but ammunition in the gale.

He could feel his new body reacting strangely to this weather.

This prison he was confined to was getting annoying.  
He rambled around, trying to rip the pants away, but they would not tear.

He stripped the pant garment down, but found no mess, nor any source definable for the smell. The front was clean, the back was perfect.  
So he walked forward, but found it hard to do so with this denim constrictor around his ankles. He fell forward on his face, the dirt infesting his mouth.

Squirming further, he managed to finally kick them off.

"Insufferable swine!" He brushed the dirt off his skin, but it stayed there.

His attention to detail suffered from lack of experience using human eyes.

These strange shorts beneath his pants were far more comfortable, and he was bemused as to why humans would wear something so much less agreeable on top.  
He wandered around, exploring the woods he was trapped in. They were endless! The mystic creatures surrounding him ran away as he growled.

He came to a clearing of flowers, colored a wide variety of shades. Some had colors that did not grow naturally, though he did not care to know this.

He trampled over them in his search for freedom and muttered to himself all curses imaginable.

Then, he snapped the tree branch in front of him, and found himself on hot cement.

Lurid, metal vehicles passed around him, going back and forth speeding.  
To his immediate right, a woman walked by with an umbrella, and looked him over with a grin.

She seemed to fall under some enchantment the second she looked at him.  
On his left, a male did much the same.

"By hogrish' menace, what are you looking at?" The demon emperor spat at them, and their faces changed to disgust as they paid him no more attention.

They snickered at his trouser deficiency and so he chased after them, vowing violence. They escaped his slow reach with ease, disappearing.

What was their problem? He would soon fix this. Returning to his old form was his primary directive.  
Traveling about, he discovered the sidewalk went on endlessly, then he realized he'd just gone in a circle.

He went back the other way and found out the same result. He snarled like a mad man, enraged at the events for their shakespearian tragedy.

Seeing another place across the way, he got his bearings and took one step forward.  
Loud cars slammed their brakes and sirens blared in his ears as car after car swerved away from him. A man screamed for him to 'watch the road.'  
He continued to walk across, and eventually found himself thrust forward to the other sidewalk after a van side-swiped him, batting him like a rag-doll.

He coughed blood to the ground, and felt like the strength in his chest came undone. Something felt collapsed inside his back.

His new, frail body was shaking as he tried to stand and take a look around. Is this how low creatures 'experience?' He took a few steps and saw the street up ahead. A car was parked nearby.

"Mirror!" He whispered and tried to hurry as much as his energy allowed.

Once he stood in front of the small reflective surface, the horrible truth settled in. He had frosty green eyes and tan skin matching his dark hair.  
The length of it was barbaric, shaggily stretching down to the end of his neck. On his face was a sharp nose and thin lips. A guy on a bicycle rode by and screamed, "ASSHOOOLE!"

"I'm in the god damn human world." He said flatly, then screamed it to the sky, "I'm in the human world!"

Then, he looked down at himself, even more worried.

Mundus just stood there, troubled by all the strange feelings overflowing his mind.  
Even if he somehow was trapped in this form, he shouldn't feel like a weak devil.

What happened to my powers?

What did that Demon do to me?

He closed his eyes and took a moment to breath.

"Egredere!" He whispered, eyes turning crimson over his vicious expression. But silence welcomed him once more.

Huffing to himself, he accompanied his words with finger tuts.

"Qui vocat te," He spoke again with a sense of urgency.

Nothing happened.

Damn it.

For a second, a memory came back to him. . . Of words spoken to him.

The spawn of ancient Wrong,  
With all the hosts of slaughter that our own sins must breed  
You must remember the reason for our folly, stoke it in the creed  
Of our kind, before o'er shadows long

An old verse, spoken before in tongues. . . Why was it spoken to him?

He chose to walk and take a look around, perhaps it would give a clue to something. Two hours went by and the storm ceased, leaving him soaking wet and mourning his pathetic status.

He felt his mind begin functioning again, relaxation.

However, the sun started setting. The noises were slowly fading, the putrid humans nearby trekking off somewhere.  
In the midst of his walk, he felt something being snatched from his pocket.  
Mundus turned back, only to see two men smirking his way. His fists clenched, he raged back at them.

"Are you looking for this, little guy?" One man said, holding what appeared to be a small blade.

He knew what it was, a weapon he crafted to arm one of his knights and replace their strong weapons. As if, it was a miniature version of the Zweihander he'd given to Vergil.  
That low life deserved it for disobeying him. Each time he'd order that boy to do something, there was resistance, to the point he needed to blot out his mind completely.

"You're not so tough without your toy, are ya, scum bag?" His friend spat.

Mundus made a quick mental note to punish them for their insolence, perhaps by removing their mouths altogether.

. . . Just as soon as he could figure out what happened to his powers . . .

"Scum bag? I would have thought creatures of your intelligence could come up with something more hurtful than that." The lord replied, deadpan.

His gruff voice was formally polite.

The man facing him narrowed his eyes. Who the hell did he think he was?  
Arrogant a bit too much for his own good, he concluded.

Perhaps that explained the lack of pants. . . Strangely.

"And I woulda thought a man in your position would know better than to open his mouth at all. I could stab you in the brain right now.  
But, you know? Judgin' from your attitude; you don't even have a brain." He said, a thick Brooklyn accent coming through.

His friend came over and grasped Mundus' right arm, pulling it behind his back as he grasped the accompanying shoulder.

"Are you sure you want to do this, boy?" Mundus said casually again, an icy scowl leering out.

The guy smiled and held the blade in front of him.

"Don't worry, your clothes'll go to a good cause." He said and charged at him.

Mundus's eyes shimmered red and the attacker stopped, his arm frozen in mid air.

"Wh-what's going on?" He trembled.

Mundus chose not to wait any longer. He reverse-gripped the man behind him and broke free, then put his hands around his jaw. In a smooth motion, he reversed the thug's head.  
A loud, creaking-snap echoed as the man fell to the ground, dead. He pushed back the other's incoming fist and restrained it behind the man's back. He crunched the muscle into place.

A spate of comical noises exited the man's mouth.

"Ah! Please let me go sir!"

Mundus was bemused.

"Useless creatures, daring to speak to me in such a fashion. . ." His voice thickened, "Now you will see what happens when someone crosses me." He whispered into the thug's ear.

He shot a fist into the back of the man's gut, then shoved his elbow into his spine.  
In one deft move, he paralyzed the man, with a third and final blow coming to the base of the criminal's neck.  
Falling to the ground, he screamed aloud, motionless.

"_AaaaAAAH!_ Oh god, someone help me!"

The sight was so amusing it made the lord smile.

. . .

"Leroy! Vino! _Ahoowww_-_heeelp!_" The man exhaled, tears streaming.

Two friends came around the corner to witness the carnage, one looked black and the other Italiano.

They were horrified.

"What did you to him man?!" Screamed Leroy.

"Nothing I'm not planning for you." Mundus replied, strolling forward.

The men rushed away, their escape quite bumbling.  
He trudged along, feeling cold for an odd reason.

He quietly beckoned for them in the dark, like a hunter searching for his prey.

"_Where are you?_"

His voice stretched out each syllable as if he were playing a simple game of hide-and-seek.

"Come out, don't think I don't hear you crawling."

It was true. No matter how much they try to hide, he can still hear them very clearly. At least his sharp senses were fine.  
Both could feel the earth grow harsher beneath them as they tried to hide among the bushes of the nearby greenland.

They were covering each other's mouths, like a surgical mask. One of them had grabbed the blade from their friend and he tried holding back his sobs as they hid.  
Footsteps approached slowly as his weight pressed into the sandy grounds. That monster was close. The intension was death.

"I know you're here, I can smell your filthy blood." They heard him say, "I'm going to find you!"

That last one was almost sung.

The two men whispered to each other, "We should call the police!"

"Hurry!"

One of them took out his cellphone, but then. . .

"Isn't this how you play? Since you two challenged me, I thought I'd help myself. Won't you come out and amuse me more?"

He was speaking in a cajoling way, but his pouty tone frightened them to the core; something was off about him.  
The red eyes, how his arm was frozen in time. His strength! The men felt hands grab their heads roughly and pulled them back.

"I don't like disobedience. And now, you're going to feel what all my subjects feel: The gift of pain."

Blood-chilling screams filled his ears, but whereas the souls of the damned were a treat, they were just annoying.  
One dropped the blade to the ground as they hung their hands on his, trying desperately to break free. Eventually one managed to get loose.  
A clump of his hair remained at Mundus' fingertips.

The devil raised his hand above his head and prepared to kill him when a cacophonous bang broke his concentration. He winced his hand back in horrid pain.

"Who dares!?" He bellowed.

"Calm down, sport," A man said, gun-smoke rising from the silver barrel, "We wouldn't want you to lose a digit now."

The stranger had silver hair and a red coat. He bore a giant sword on his back, one with a jewel crested upon it, the Force Edge.

Mundus raised his hand to see a clean bullet hole, and the man before him was a familiar figure, one he recognized as his killer.

Dante. . .

The devil's rage echoed through the cold and silent night

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**To be continued. . .**

**Will guys what do you think? very strange idea, I want to explore it.**


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